


when the villain falls (the kingdoms never weep)

by golden_redhead



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Jealousy, M/M, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, shipping is more implied than anything else and it's all unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 11:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_redhead/pseuds/golden_redhead
Summary: Ouma re-watches his motive video over and over again, until he can recite the words from memory, until the images stay beneath his eyelids even when he closes his eyes. The video somehow unlocks the long-forgotten memories and they flood his mind with all their vibrant colors and foul smells and the sweetest lies. They carry the promise of fun times and a home to come back to.It’s a beautiful lie, but a lie nonetheless. He should know, as a self-proclaimed liar.- - -Or, in other words, Ouma Kokichi's slow descent to hell.





	when the villain falls (the kingdoms never weep)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grayimperia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/gifts), [idaate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idaate/gifts).



> As always, I want to thank my wonderful beta @asteroidtaker (Tumblr) for helping me with making this readable! I don't know what I would do without you.
> 
> I also wanted to dedicate this fic to grayimperia and idaate! I wanted to thank you for your wonderful writing, your fics are an endless source of inspiration and motivation for me and I appreciate them for how real and insightful they are.

At first Ouma refuses to play right into Monokuma’s paws, content with simply watching as things unfold before his eyes from the shadows, only stepping in when necessary, like that one time Akamatsu’s ambition nearly gets them all killed long before the killing game even had a chance to begin.

 

He’s not sure what to feel about any of it. The whole situation feels so bizzare, almost like taken straight out from a movie. Like any moment someone could just jump out from somewhere and say that it was all some long elaborate joke.

 

He quickly realizes that it’s far too real to be one though.

 

-

 

Akamatsu quickly turned out to be a disappointment, her lifeless feet dangling over black and white keyboards as the last notes of Flohwalzer Flea Waltz resound in the copper-smelling room. She shone too bright and Ouma knows from experience that people like her tend to fade too quickly.

 

-

 

The day after Akamatsu’s execution Saihara enters the dining hall with no hat on his head and Momota’s sturdy arm wrapped around his shoulder. He beams at everyone when he proudly announces that Saihara is now his sidekick. The detective looks slightly uncomfortable, fidgeting under Momota’s starry gaze, not used to being put in the spotlight, even if it belongs to someone else.

 

Amazing, how fast he’s found the replacement for Akamatsu’s uplifting smiles and encouraging speeches.

 

Ouma smirks into his mug and burns his tongue with another sip of tea.

 

All he can taste is blood.

 

-

 

Ouma re-watches his motive video over and over again, until he can recite the words from memory, until the images stay beneath his eyelids even when he closes his eyes. The video somehow unlocks the long forgotten memories and they flood his mind with all their vibrant colors and foul smells and the sweetest lies. They carry the promise of fun times and a home to come back to.

 

It’s a beautiful lie, but a lie nonetheless. He should know, as a self-proclaimed liar.

 

After all, there’s not even an itsy, bitsy, incy, wincy chance that anyone would love him, right?

 

Whatever.

 

It doesn’t matter if DICE were ever real. Even if they ever were - they aren’t anymore and that’s not a lie.

 

Ouma is the master of lies and he refuses to be deceived by the ones created by others, no matter how sweet they taste.

 

-

 

He cries real tears when Hoshi dies - Shinguji calls them disingenuous - and demands that they apologize for letting the killing game start again, but his words fall on deaf ears.

 

And then a new game of blame begins.

 

-

 

Ouma can’t help but feel disappointment wash over him as Monokuma slams the red button down with his little hammer and Tojo climbs the thorny vine, her forehead creased with determination.

 

Tojo wasn’t his real mom, but being called a detestable cretin by the normally so composed maid still sends a twinge of _something_ through his chest. He quickly covers it with a smile and watches as she’s dragged to her execution, cheering her on when she makes one last desperate attempt to escape.

 

There’s something fascinating about her transformation from dignified and professional to demeaning but he cannot appreciate it fully, not when the image of Hoshi’s bones is still so clear in his memory, the nausea still holding his insides in a steel-like grip.

 

Tojo Kirumi dies knowing that she failed and at least this is one thing that Ouma can relate to, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

 

-

 

There’s an English saying that hell is paved with good intentions and as he stares at Angie’s body, surrounded by blots of ink, he can’t help but think about how accurately it describes her.

 

Ouma wonders where her god is now.

 

-

 

He says that it’s a lie even though it’s anything but.

 

The blood - hot and sticky and downright _disgusting_ \- trickles down his forehead, sticks his eyelashes together, drips down the bridge of his nose and he smiles, the widest smile he can muster in his sorry state.

 

“If you’re going to lose consciousness, do it after you tell us everything,” says Harukawa and it’s such a classic Harukawa line that he would burst out laughing right here and there if he wasn’t on the verge of collapsing.

 

Not even Saihara seems to lend him a helping hand, so he lifts himself from the ground on shaking legs, the whole world spinning around him like he was on some nightmarish carousel. Ouma spares one last look in Saihara’s direction and swallowing the bitter disappointment burning in his throat he heads towards the trial grounds on wobbling legs.

 

He doesn’t look back.

 

-

 

He wasn’t there when Hoshi died and he refuses to make the same mistake again.

 

However, as it quickly turns out, just those sentiments alone wasn’t enough.

 

Chabashira Tenko dies right under his nose and he feels the weight of his failure settle on his shoulders as later he sneaks into the Ultimate Artist’s lab under the cover of the night and drags Amami’s wax effigy back to his room, where he can feel his judging eyes on his back whenever he feels like giving up.

 

-

 

He finds out the secret of the outside world and so his slow descent to despair begins.

 

-

 

The place where Momota’s fist collided with his cheek stings, but he doesn’t feel like doing anything about it. It’s hardly the first time when one of his fellow students raised their hand at him, he simply adds it to the steadily growing collection of wounds, right next to the memory of Harukawa’s cold fingers crushing his windpipe.

 

He stares into the mirror and observes as the redness spreads over his cheek.

 

He watches as he slowly becomes the person that he doesn’t recognize anymore.

 

Actually, with how things are going he’s not sure if he can even be called a person.

 

The partially finished message ‘This world belongs to Kokichi Ouma’ hidden between the long blades of grass keeps mocking him.

 

-

 

It’s almost funny how different eyes can be. Gonta and Harukawa both have red eyes, but Gonta’s look at him with warmth and almost childlike wonder, whereas Harukawa’s scream _death death_ **_death_ ** when cold fingers wrap around his neck and squeeze and he chokes and no one - not even sweet, gentle Gonta - comes to his rescue.

 

Saihara’s eyes look at him like he’s some kind of puzzle, searching for meanings that aren’t there. It’s almost laughable how stubborn someone as quiet and soft-spoken like him can be, refusing to accept the obvious, refusing to see what is right before his eyes. Ouma is much more transparent than Saihara thinks. It’s alright, though, if Saihara isn’t ready to see it then it’s even better for Ouma, it means that he doesn’t have to worry about pesky detectives ruining his plans.

 

Momota’s eyes are always bright, just like the stars he always chases after. Or, well, maybe not always. When he coughs up blood on the cold tiles of a bathroom his eyes are dim and scared. This emotion looks so foreign on him that Ouma almost lets out a surprised sound before he clasps his hand over his mouth and backs away from the bathroom. Momota doesn’t notice Ouma hiding behind the door and Ouma doesn’t make his presence known, quietly storing this new information in his mind and swallowing bitter amusement.

 

Oh, how deceitful the most honest of them turned out to be!

 

Iruma’s eyes, unlike Momota’s, are always scared. There’s so much hurt that sometimes even Ouma feels like averting his eyes, anything to not look into these deep blue pools of hurt anymore. He recognizes the little lost girl hidden beneath the slutty facade, desperate for attention, starved for affection.

 

He’s not surprised when he realizes what she’s planning and can’t help but wonder if she singled him out as the victim because he’s the only person here that no one would cry for.

 

Maybe in a different world he and Iruma would be the best of friends. In this world all he can be is her doom.

 

Some eyes remain unreadable to the very end, just like Amami’s did. There was only this hint of amusement that seemed so permanent, even when his brows furrowed in worry. Or at least that’s what Ouma thinks he’s seen in them. He’s not entirely sure. After all, he’s known Amami for a total of twelve hours before he found his body on the dusty floor of the library, his skull bashed in with a shot put ball and vibrant pink blood pooling around his head like some kind of horrific halo.

 

Ouma doesn’t really remember Akamatsu’s eyes, all of his memories of her drowned out by the hauntingly sweet melody of Clair De Lune.

 

It’s not a problem, though.

 

Saihara remembers her for both of them.

 

-

 

Watching Saihara fuss over his injury is amusing.

 

It’s not even an injury, really, more like a scratch. It’s in moments like this one that Ouma truly doesn’t understand the shy detective. He let him almost get strangled to death - by one of his closest friends, no less! - and yet here he is now, wrapping a bandage around his finger, scowl plastered to his face as he chastises Ouma for his recklessness and asks if he’s alright, his eyes warm and bright, brow furrowed in concern.

 

He’s gentle and considerate and Ouma’s heart aches.

 

Ouma could almost fool himself that Saihara is falling for him, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s seen him sneaking into Akamatsu’s lab late at night and recognizes the longing in his eyes when Momota disappears behind the door of his dorm room after one of their training sessions. No, Saihara was never meant to be his and deep down Ouma always knew that it’s for the better.

 

All Ouma is good at is ruining everyone around him.

 

And if Iruma and Gonta taught him anything it’s that there’s no point in tempting to change fate.

 

-

 

He feels it before he knows it.

 

In retrospection, it was all too obvious, really.

 

Iruma’s betrayal was obvious in the way her hands trembled when she was taking the new set of blueprints from his hands, clear in the way her eyes were looking anywhere but at him, the same way that frightened animals do when they are caught in a snare, frantic and dazed.

 

He shouldn’t feel disappointment, but he can’t help but do, only a little.

 

Iruma was their best chance to get out of this hell and now she’s going to bury them all under its ruins.

 

Unless...

 

-

 

When he leads Gonta to the place where the Flashback Light is hidden he feels cold spreading through his tiny pixelated body, nagging at his insides. He wonders if maybe there’s something wrong with the program, because according to Iruma’s prideful boasting it should be impossible.

 

And yet here he is, trembling as his humanity crumbles.

 

-

 

Gonta’s hands tug at the toilet paper as hot fat tears roll down his cheeks and he apologizes, a quiet chant that reminds Ouma of the buzzing of flies. Iruma kicks and writhes in his grasp trying to free herself, struggling like a wounded animal. Her eyes are bulging and she lets out a terrifying gurgling sound.

 

Her death is loud and ugly, just like Iruma herself.

 

And Ouma can’t pry his eyes away. He doesn’t really _want to._

 

He deserves to have this image burned under his eyelids, haunting him during the long lonely nights where he curls on the bed offered to him by Monokuma, stares into the dull and dead eyes of Amami and wonders where he went so horribly, utterly wrong.

 

-

 

Ouma would be impressed with Saihara’s lie if only he wasn’t so busy watching helplessly as his plan is folding in on itself. He’s not surprised when others side with Saihara - quiet, ever so reliable Saihara - but he can’t quite stop the bitter feeling that spreads through his chest and wraps around his lungs, making it harder to breathe as he forces the smile on his face to stretch as much as it can.

 

He doesn’t hate Saihara for what he says later, when the remains of what used to be Gonta are still scorching in the background.

 

Maybe he should.

 

The words hang heavily in the space between them, Saihara’s eyes for once clear and sure, maybe even for the first time since they got here. He’s nothing like that shy reserved kid that fell out of the locker. Akamatsu taught him well, Momota bravely carrying out her mission after her death.

 

Ouma would feel proud of him if he wasn’t so busy with not feeling anything at all.

 

-

 

The marker lets out a squeaky sound as it slides across the whiteboard whenever his pale hand presses on it too hard. Ouma ignores it, tongue trapped between his lips as he concentrates on the newest addition on the board - a shaky line that connects the picture of a gentle giant and a slutty inventor. Next to it he draws a roll of toilet paper. It’s not nearly as funny as it should be.

 

He wipes the shaky line between Gonta and Iruma with the edge of his sleeve and draws a new one, straight and certain.

 

There’s no coming back now.  

 

-

 

He went through all the possible scenarios and no matter how he looks at it - both he and Momota are going to die.

 

Momota was practically designed to die from the very beginning, the disease trapped in his chest killing him slowly from day one. And Ouma… well, Ouma is Ouma.

 

He writes plans after plans, writes until his hand aches, writes until his fingers are stained with ink. But in the end all of this is in vain - the solution he’s searching for doesn’t exist, plain and simple.

 

He can’t save Momota.

 

There’s no cure for whatever disease he has, no antidote. He’s searched this whole damn place, all for nothing. When he first became aware of the existence of the disease he was so sure that sooner or later a new motive would appear. He knows without a trace of doubt that Harukawa would kill without hesitation if only it could save her precious knight in shining armour. Who knows, maybe even Saihara would be desperate enough to try, driven by his grief towards Akamatsu and breaking under the pressure of responsibility placed upon his shoulders.

 

Ouma’s not naive enough to think that he could save himself. He’s already condemned himself, in more ways than one. Whatever future holds for him - it’ll just end in pain. And he deserves every second of it.

 

-

 

It might be just the poison talking, but with Momota’s strong warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, shielding him from the cold air of the hangar, he can almost trick himself into thinking that if things turned out differently he could fall for these big yet surprisingly gentle arms, for the stability they promise.

 

Maybe that’s why Saihara and Harukawa seem to be so attracted to this idiot.

 

Wouldn’t it be an interesting story? A villain that fell for the hero. How laughable.

 

Because in the end that’s what Momota is - a perfect hero to Ouma’s villain.

 

He’s full of life and passionate where Ouma’s cold and calculative. Fire, burning bright and warm against Ouma’s ice, cold nature.

 

And like all heroes - he deserves to live, to have his happily ever after and the castle and the princess or whatever it is that heroes get at the end of their stories.

 

As it is, all Ouma can do for him is let him have the goodbye he deserves.

 

-

 

It is a miracle that he managed to stop the press before it turned Momota into a flat purple-colored pancake.

 

His fingers feel slippery against the buttons, his left hand spasming occasionally and slowly going numb. The poison coursing in his veins is a fast acting one and he’s actually impressed that Harukawa went with this one.  As expected of little Miss Assassin!

 

It’s almost a shame that Harukawa didn’t get to see him like this, didn't get to see her plans come to fruition. He robbed her of this satisfaction at the cost of keeping her alive, something that she’ll surely never even acknowledge, much less appreciate.

 

-

 

By the time Momota helps to get his useless body on the press he’s already delirious from pain, barely registering the labored breathing next to him as the astronaut suddenly curses, bends in half and vomits pink-colored blood on the soon-to-be-pink colored tiles. Ouma vaguely remembers one of the sleepless nights spent next to his whiteboard, agonizing over the color of the blood, some small part of his mind buried deep inside insisting that there’s something wrong with it.

 

He waits patiently for Momota to finish. After all, it’s not like he could die any moment or anything. They have their whole lives before them, young and indestructible, both of them.

 

“It’s time,” he says when Momota finally straightens up and wipes his chin with the edge of his once-white shirt.

 

Poor Momota looks so conflicted in this moment, torn between doing what is right and doing what must be done. Ouma adds it to the long list of his sins. Even on his deathbed he somehow manages to make everyone miserable.

 

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out finally. It sounds sincere like most things that Momota says.

 

Ouma only hums in response and doesn’t voice any of his thoughts.

 

It’s his last gift for Momota. He better appreciate it.

 

The astronaut is clearly waiting for some kind of response, but Ouma refuses to humour him. Instead, he forces a wobbly smile on his lips and asks: “At least I wasn’t boring, right?”

 

-

 

In his last moments Ouma is grateful.

 

The machinery of the hydraulic press drowns out the sound of the sob that rips itself out from his throat. He promised himself that he wouldn’t cry, but it turns out that it’s not that easy when you’re facing the cruelest death imaginable.

 

But it’s not like it was the first promise that he’s broken.

 

The press is like a monster looming over him, Ouma’s reflection staring at him from the dim metallic surface.

 

Was it worth it? - it seems to ask. He doesn’t have the good answer to that.

 

In the end he’s as much of a puppet as the rest of them.

 

You're _alone_ , Kokichi. And you _always will be_.

 

Saihara’s voice echoes in his head. It sounds like a promise.

 

 _‘Saihara-chan is so wise’_ , thinks Ouma with a laugh that sounds suspiciously like another sob.

 

He watches as the monster looming over him begins its slow descent, the sound of Momota’s coughs blending with the roar of the press. It’s all too slow and all too fast and when the survival instincts finally kick in and his mind screams at him to roll out from under the press it’s already too late.

 

And then it’s just pain.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly kind of nervous about posting this fic because I poured my heart and soul into it and this is something that I wanted to write for a really long time ; 3 ; 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! I would love to know what you liked, if you had any favorite lines, stuff like that! You can also always find me on Tumblr under the same nick as here!


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